writing.

i think i will write here again.

lazy fellow.

so i am more or less sticking to lj. 2 is too much trouble. so long blogger. eh. for now?

me - alittlebalcony.livejournal.com


listeningto: camera obscura's tears for affairs
reading: dana gioia's can poetry matter? essay
current location: where else? my other home, the bloody office.

the uneducated me.

i discovered (actually, i discovered the discovery long x 1000 time ago, so "discovered" is salah) so anyway, i acknowledge that i am inadequately equipped to intelligently (as opposed to "dissing") appraise and appreciate a range of poetry that is beyond what i deem a modern period.

so since i have been effectively crippled (again) for the next few days, i think its high time i brush up on my donnes, shakes, chaucers, (boring, boring) miltons (fun!) frosties, as well as the pounds, eliots, audens, whitmans, i.e. most of the relevant seriouslyx10 dead white men, all of whom (with the exception of shakey, frosty, and milton), i have only made half hearted attempts at reading so that at least when an intelligent poetically inclined person swings by, i can discuss something other than :

"wow loah, her g-string can see le!"

seriously, i have restricted/slanted my reading list so much towards a select bunch of modern poets and (not so seriously) d.w.ms that i have become myopic, and have almost started regarding poetry outside of that list as irrelevant and/or obsolete or rubbish. which, of course, is so wrong.

so if there are any chiobus (i stress chiobus) with said experience in said subject, and willing to tutor me, kindly email me your application form (must attach photo). kay?

on bloom.

so i wasted the entire weekend reading essays. yes. the entire weekend. O_O am so fucking intellectual can.

anyhow, my fav ones are still those of harold bloom's. he's biased, boombastic, sarcastic, brilliant, an irrelevant dinosaur who never fails to excite. i dont always agree, but that, i think, is the point. you must make your own decisions on his opinions, but ah... the way he presents it; like he must be right because should he be wrong, the literary world will be a smaller sadder place to live in.

convincing in an evil sense. excellent.

though i cannot help but agree wholeheartedly, mind and with what little soul i possess, on this one. ;)

listening to: camera obscura - my sister's social agony
reading: thumboo on whose canon, what texts, which methods.


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confession. disclaimer.

i think i should say this.

if you are reading this, and are not a bot/alien/non-human of higher self consiousness, and have arrived at this site not through a random sequence of event, and believe that i am not aware of your presence...

you are so wrong. hahaha.

just thought i say it. yes. boredom strikes.

princess is home.

she is back and somehow i am happy again. :)

for last last sunday.

Apart from having to severely over-work myself, resulting in major illness, (again, i am a weak child) what was left of the last weekend actually turned out pretty interesting. albeit a wee bit embarrassing.

managed to attend the big orgy of a launch at sam on sat, as usual late, which turned out to be a good thing because i missed a sizable portion of dr kk seet’s intro. small mercies. the interesting bit actually came at the end of the thing, when cy suddenly introduced me to this girl:

cy: eric, come, this is rui.

me: oh oh hi. *smile politely*

cy: this is rui. *blink blink*

then it suddenly dawned on me that this was donna’s friend. the one who informed her about the existence of my flighty butterfly poem, then tormented me by refusing to tell me who she was.

me: OHHHHH.... *blush.* *blush*

rui: *smile* *semi-snigger*

me: *embarrassed to death*

naturally, being me, i tried to explain to her that i wasnt one of those weird stalker types you see in the movies. end result: i managed to impress her with my enormous stupidity, revealed that i actually wrote 2 more poems of related subject matter, and overall, i “eh” “ah” all over.

sor fern and beng liang who were also at the scene of the crime, were rather amused by this. and subsequently got even more amused when they discovered that i wrote poetry. this despite me hanging around perumal road with all of them. i think they thought i was the handyman, despite the very glaring fact that i didnt do any handy work there at all.

was over at their new place just the other day to look at their new telly and how my guys were gonna mount up the tv. they had guests, more of sor fern’s life editors and contributors i think. beng passed me the bracket that harvey norman’s gave them for the sharp and i was surprised to see that it was a copied one of paul’s 2632 bracket (long story, but i had a part to play in the design of the original model of that line, part of the XLT 26 range) in any case, they seemed more amused of that seemingly contrasting nugget of my life, and amused themselves by introducing me to their guests as the renaissance man, who can write poetry, mount tvs, and draw detailed diagrams for bracketry. i responded by informing their guests that despite that effeminate label, i was still, definitely straight.

managed to also catch wilson’s entry for the esplanade's sparks 4 creative development programme, entitled “Deviation: Dichterliebe” last last sunday. he used my poem, “one moment” in one of the scenes, the one where he drops roses while reciting it to the audience. it is an odd feeling when someone else reads your stuff, and in that dramatic voice, it’s quite eerie. but so ego that i blushed.

go watch it when wilson presents it for the next round. he got through this round to advance to the next one. which i think gets him more funding or something.

cy got nom-ed for singapore lit prize 06, but somehow feels that he won't win. even when all the nominees are poetry books. silly boy.

in other news, princess is somewhere in russia. and i actually miss her.